Neon Noir Mic Drop

Under neon dusk, he grips the mic like steel, His inked arms carve the night with firelit zeal. A city hums behind in embered glow, While heavy chains keep time to beats below. His gaze cuts through the smoke of marquee light, A single verse turns alleys into flight. In warm-toned haze, the crowd becomes a sea, And every pulse repeats: be bold, be free.